


Roman Candle

by mytimehaspassed



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-24
Updated: 2010-05-24
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:11:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytimehaspassed/pseuds/mytimehaspassed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s funny because the only thing you remember from that day is the sound of the ocean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roman Candle

**ROMAN CANDLE**  
SUPERNATURAL  
Dean/OMC; (implied non-con) John/Dean; (pre-) Sam/Dean  
 **WARNINGS** : post-apocalyptic AU; implied non-consenual sex  
Written for [](http://disandat.livejournal.com/profile)[**disandat**](http://disandat.livejournal.com/) for [Sweet Charity](http://www.sweet-charity.net/index.php?page=home)

  
It’s funny because the only thing you remember from that day is the sound of the ocean. Everything else comes to you in this big blur, this stretch of time that feels like it’s been stuck in fast forward for so long, the film has started to tear. It’s funny because, even with the war, even with the world sliding deeper and deeper into hell, things were actually going okay for once in your life. Even with Sam gone, it felt like things were actually working out.

Michael says, That doesn’t sound like a joke.

And you say, “Not funny ha ha.”

***

You cross patches of desert and dense forest for two days until you happen upon a town with power that has you thanking God for small mercies in the form of backup generators and well water that can be processed and cleaned. You and Michael have been at this for so long, running and running from whatever is out there, you’ve forgotten how good it feels to just lay down and rest for a while without having to constantly look over your shoulder. The people who live in the town trade you food and a place to stay for news of the outside world. Old, gruff-looking men stand stoic and protective over their wives and children, and maybe if you haven’t been pressing all these feelings and memories down, maybe if you’d just let yourself go, maybe something would have tugged at your heart.

They let you have a spare bedroom in one of the old farmhouses on Main Street, home to a man and his three teenage sons, all dark-haired and emaciated. The bed they give you, the bed you and Michael share, it’s filled with knitted blankets and pillows that have been stitched by hand, and you guess this is supposed to feel wrong, laying here with him in this shitty post-apocalyptic town, laying here in this bed while people are out there dying, but, to tell the truth, you haven’t been able to feel much for a while now.

You and Michael, he’s been trying so hard to be good to you, it’s almost disconcerting. You’re fighting yourself about whether or not you should tell him why you sought him out, why you invited him to tag along with you in the first place, but your cautious side always wins.

Really, you’re not sure what he’d do if he ever found out the truth.

***

Your hand tucked under the pillow beneath his head, your hand bunching the soft sheets tight, you feel like saying, “This has got to be the worst idea in the history of the world.”

His hands slow and smooth and warm on your back, on your hip, on the side of your face, his hands move in this flurry of motion, and it seems like he won’t ever be able to decide where to put them. Like it hurts him to keep still for so long. His mouth and your mouth, it’s such a crime that they fit so perfectly.

It’s so stupid, but you forget how this is supposed to go. This has been happening for so long, you should be a fucking expert by now, but it always feels like every time is new, like every time he does this, like every time you let him, it’s the first.

With your eyes closed and your face pressed close to the underside of his chin, with your mouth and your gritted teeth, you feel like saying, “I wish this had never started.”

***

It’s funny because you get dreams like Sam now. It’s nothing lucid, nothing clear, but it’s vivid enough to have you waking up in a cold sweat, frightened, mouth open to scream. There’s never any victim to find, never any problem to solve, but you guess that’s just because that was Sam’s specialty, not yours. You guess that’s just because you’re so not the right guy for this job.

Michael tries his hardest not to touch you anymore, and you find yourself missing the comfort of his hands, missing the feeling of his fist against your stomach, your ribs. You find yourself missing the fingers that wrap tight around the skin of your wrist, the way he’d press so hard your bones would touch. Michael is trying his hardest to be so much better, but you find yourself missing the way he used to be.

It’s funny because you’ve been getting these dreams for so long, you’ve forgotten how normal you used to be. Before Mom and before the demon. Before you ever even met Michael. He smiles and laughs so much more now, he’s so happy and you’re so miserable, and sometimes you think if there ever was a God that looked down on Earth and tried to help, tried to make everything right, he’s long gone by now. Sometimes you think you’re really all you have, because forget Michael and forget Sam and forget your fucking father who could have given you a much better life than this.

It’s funny because the nights you wake up with these headaches, these nightmares that are so hard to forget, you think of Max. You think of how Sam could have turned out, and you think of how your fucking no good father could have turned out, so so so much worse, and you realize that maybe, maybe even with all this shit that’s happened, maybe there is a God out there.

Michael says, Maybe you just don’t know what to believe in.

And you say, “That’s what makes me human.”

***

You’re not sure how this supposed to work. You’re not sure how this is all supposed to go down, with just Michael here instead of your family, with just you and Michael. You’re not sure why your life means more than Sam’s. Than your father’s. You’re not sure why you’re here pushing on through all this shit, this war and desolation, this fucking apocalypse, why you were the one chosen for this.

You’re not sure about any of this.

Michael helps you move on from the town, helps you steal what little they have left, all these fucking people that don’t seem to have the better sense to just fucking die than keep living in fear of what’s around the corner, Michael helps you steal all of their hope. You’re not sure what’s right anymore.

You pass through deserted Indian reservations and try to salvage as much as you can. Little things like bits of cloth and broken pieces of wood for fire, anything you can carry. You remember sifting through pages of old Apache text once, legends and fairy tales of those monsters you knew were real, those kinds of demons and spirits that nobody believed in. The marks you see on the buildings, the marks carved into the ground so hard they’ll never be able to wash away, those are the same marks from that book, those symbols drawn in desperation, those are the same marks from your father’s journal.

The sky grows dark and angry and Michael stops you right there to push you down. His eyes and mouth and perfect hands, he’s touching you with this kind of soft apology, this kind of disgust. You’ve missed this so much, this hurt that you’ve always had with your father, this hurt that you’ve always tried to protect Sam from. Michael and his big hands, he’s all over you and you’re just loving it, rolling around all these symbols drawn to warn off the evil that they knew were coming, all these last stands. Michael and his pretty mouth, he’s forcing your shoulders down so hard, you feel like you’ll never be able to get back up, like you’re gonna stay here forever.

The rain that comes in heavy drops, Michael’s only paying attention to you and this was all you ever wanted, really.

Besides the whole thing you had with your father, besides the whole thing with you and Sam, all you really wanted was someone to just take control. Besides the whole thing with Sam becoming the martyr he always wanted to be, besides the whole thing where your father took his own sawed off shotgun to his head, besides the fact that they fucking left you here, this was everything you’ve always wanted. Just Michael and you.

Michael and his grimace of pain, Michael and the tears that well up in his eyes and fall down his cheeks like rain, Michael and oh fuck, just this right here, just his warm hand unbuttoning the fly of your jeans, just his mouth wet against the side of your face, just his whispers like the sound of the ocean in your ear. This was everything.

You’re not sure why it took you so long to finally get it.

***

It’s not like he didn’t ever try to stop. It’s not like this was his fault, really, more like yours, for begging him, for pushing him to give you what you thought you needed, what you thought he needed. It’s not like you were the victim in all this, really, not considering how you were the one who initiated everything. Not considering how skilled you are at manipulation.

The day after he called you Mary for the first time, his eyes swollen and red like he’d been crying all day long, that salty summer evening in Kansas, that night of your fifteenth birthday, you ignored him in favor of Sam, making sure your face lit up at the hastily made present he’d given you. Your father and his bad decisions, that’s been the story of your fucking life.

The day after your father called you Sam for the first time, that cold winter night in some Podunk town in the middle of Illinois, this town you’d chased the demon to, this town that was so fucking close to having your revenge for Sam’s death, for this lifetime of shit. The day after, your father’s mouth poised to kiss the crease of your collarbone, his slow moan of your dead brother’s name, the day after, your father gathered everything he owned into a pile out in the middle of the yard and set fire to it.

***

It’s funny because you never planned on having everything turn out this way. It’s funny because you never planned on ending up alone when this was all said and done. You never figured you’d be the one who stuck around until the very end, that you’d be the last one alive here.

It’s funny because you never planned on going crazy.

***

You and Michael and this road that goes on forever, you’re saying, “I can’t figure out where this all went wrong.” You’re somewhere near the Pacific Coast, California or Oregon maybe, but all you care about is how far away from Kansas you are, how far away from what used to be your home. All you care about is leaving all of this behind.

You and Michael and this car that he’d stolen, the gas tank more than half full, and you’re just driving until it finally dies, you’re just seeing how far away you can get. There’s no more radio now, just static, no more TV or newspapers, nothing that hasn’t already been written or recorded, but with all this shit you’re trying to forget, you can’t say that you mind. You and Michael and all of this, you’re saying, “When did it get this bad?”

The closer and closer you get to the ocean, the more you unravel. Your hands gripping the steering wheel, your foot pressing the gas pedal into the floor, you’re swerving around abandoned cars on the highway. Just piles and piles of cars laying crashed into one another, deserted and broken down, and Sam would have told you to stop and make sure no one was left, Sam would have asked you to check and see if anyone survived, if you could help them. Dad’s voice rough like sandpaper in your ear, grating and grating, he would have told you to fuck them all, your father and the angry way he used to touch you, the same way Michael doesn’t touch you now, your father would have told you to keep on going.

The closer and closer you get to the ocean, the more you can’t figure out how you’ve lived this long. The closer and closer you get to that sound, that roaring of the tides breaking, the more you can’t figure out why Michael hasn’t killed you yet, why your father didn’t get the chance. Closer and closer and, really, the blood in your veins pounding so hard, the throbbing of every one of your muscles, the cuts your fingernails make on the heel of your palm, the closer and closer you get, the more you can’t figure out why the demon killed Sam instead of you.

When the car stops, the engine sputtering and dying in a cloud of smoke, Michael gathers your things up, this pitiful excuse for what you have left, everything you need to survive, Michael grabs it all and heads for the beach. You and Michael and just, really, just everything, you’re saying, “Why am I so special?”

And Michael says, You’re not.

***

When Sam finds out about you and Dad, the night before he leaves for Stanford, the night before he grows up and gets a normal life and stops caring about what happens to Dad and you, the night before he leaves for what you think is forever, he walks in on you and your father and his hands all over you. It’s not Sam’s fault, really, it’s not even your father’s, it’s just circumstance and bad timing and every little curse cast upon the Winchester family.

Sam’s face, this kind of horrified look of not believing what he was seeing, like not being able to comprehend anything, this look like he’s not sure what to believe, after everything, that’s the look that sticks with you. Sam standing there shocked and appalled and looking so hurt, this little crush he’s always had on you, this little hero worship complex, this ultimate betrayal, you’ll never be able to get that out of your mind.

The next time you see him, the day you come to him for help, the day you realize your father wasn’t coming home from his hunting trip, with Sam and Jess and you, this cloud of disaster that follows you like your own personal shadow, Sam pretends nothing ever happened.

***

It’s funny because Michael’s the one who finally clues you in. The night you lay on the beach, the blankets you stole spread out on the sand, his hands on your naked chest, they press down hard enough to bruise. The night you’re almost completely done with everything, the night you’re contemplating just ending it all, just stopping all of this, Michael’s fingers tracing the hard angles on your body, Michael’s fingers and the way he’s trying to hold himself back, the way he’s trying not to hurt you. It’s funny because Michael has that look on his face just like Sam.

It’s funny because with everything you’ve encountered, every demon and ghost and fucking vampire, every legend you’ve conquered, every myth you’ve vanquished, it’s funny because all of this takes the fucking cake.

Michael and his pretty face, his pretty eyes and pretty mouth, it’s funny because you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile like this, smiling so hard it looks like it hurts. Michael and the hands he uses to hurt you, he says, It’s not me, really, it’s you. Michael and his fingers, the way he wraps them around your throat, the way he pulls back right before you can’t breathe anymore, he says, This is all you, baby.

It’s funny because you’ve never had this much of an imagination, not even as a child.

Michael and everything he looks like, everything he stands for, he’s just an excuse to keep on living, he’s just a mixture of Sam and your father all rolled into one, all rolled into something tangible, something you can hold on to. Michael and, Jesus, this figment of your imagination, the fingers that don’t really feel like anything, the mouth that doesn’t have a taste, it’s this picture in your head, it’s this hallucination, and it’s really you saying, You’re so fucked up.

It’s funny because now that you have nothing to live for, now that everything you had is really seriously gone, now that you’ve realized how fucked you truly are, you’re not sure what to about it. It’s funny because, here, with this sound of the ocean, the sound of your father and his shotgun and the day he decided to leave you all alone, the day after he called you Sam for the second time, the last time, the day your father finally owned up to the fact that every time he touched you, he was wishing it was your brother.

The sound of the ocean roaring like the blood pounding in your ears, and, really, it’s funny because now that you finally have what you want, the end to all his hurt, the answer to everything, now that you’re finally left all alone, you can’t even die in peace.


End file.
